


Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

by LA_Mannix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x23, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, mild violence, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:19:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LA_Mannix/pseuds/LA_Mannix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean kept his eyes open.</p><p>To the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

**Author's Note:**

> Season 8 of Supernatural has given me a lot of feelings and inspired me to to start writing again after many years. This is my love letter to the season finale. I thought I'd better post it before 8x23 airs tomorrow. 
> 
> Unbeta'd so I apologise for any mistakes. Please let me know if you find any.
> 
> Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. This is purely for entertainment purposes, no profit to be made.
> 
> Read and hopefully enjoy! :) xx

There was the distinct flutter of wings in the quiet bunker. Dean glanced at Cas and looked back down at the folder he was carrying.

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence.” 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean threw the folder onto the table. It skidded across the shiny surface. “Don’t give me that ‘Hello Dean’ crap. Kinda busy right now. Me and Sammy are working on the third trial – y’know, the trials Sam’s killin’ himself over?” Dean narrows his eyes at Cas, taking in his slumped shoulders and rumpled trench coat. Bastard.

“You’ve made progress on the third trial?” Cas asked, looking around the bunker.

Dean gritted his teeth, “Sam’s not doing so great – thanks for asking.” Cas didn’t speak. Dean hated him for that. “We bagged ourselves a demon. We got _Crowley_.”

Cas’ eyes widened, “Crowley? That’s excellent.”

“Yeah.”

Dean and Cas looked at each other. Dean would be damned if he was gonna break the silence first. He shoved his hands into his pockets and ignored how Cas’ slender wrist became visible as he reached into his trench coat pocket and removed a piece of paper. Dean ignored the way his stomach flipped at the sight of him.

“I’ve left a bag in the kitchen for you. Metatron came to me while I was purchasing these items.”

Dean started listening at that.

“He wants to close the gates of Heaven. This is the list of trials.” Cas held out the paper. Dean took it but didn’t look straight away. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He looked at Cas. “I ain’t doing ‘em. I gotta get back to the dungeon.”

“I’ve already started the trials,” Cas said. He averted his eyes. The piece of paper – a crumpled receipt – suddenly felt heavy and hot in Dean’s hand.

“You’ve already started?”

“Yeah,” Cas answered.

Angry, Dean said, “Son of a bitch.” He waved the paper at Cas. “This shit right here? You talk to us about it _first_ before you disappear. You always do this.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, “And you _always_ do that.” Dean heard Sam calling his name; an echo coming from the dungeon. The acoustics in this place were awesome. Dean registered Cas’ sad expression but felt too tired to care.

“This note is in case I don’t come back,” Cas explained.

“So you’re leaving. Again,” Dean said, clenching his fists and crumpling the paper further. Why can’t you just stay here with us? “Are you even healed?”

“Enough, yes,” Cas said.

Dean rubbed at his jaw, annoyed not for the first time that his best-friend-or-something wasn’t giving him the whole story. Sam called his name again. Dean shouted at him to hold on. 

“The third trial requires something of mine and I don’t know how I’ll be when it’s over,” Cas said.

“Yeah, that’s real helpful, Cas.” Dean said shortly.

“Sam’s coming,” Cas replied. He shifted in the way that always meant he was about to fly off. Cas’ eyes held Dean’s; the blue ancient and sad. “Read the note Dean, please.”

Dean held up a hand, “Cas, no, wait – “ but there was the sound of wings and Cas was gone. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice.

Dean didn’t answer, stunned that Cas had disappeared again, pissed at that goddamn angel, so pissed he could feel his blood rushing to his head. Sam came closer. Said, “Crowley’s looking pretty bad, which is actually pretty good for us.”

Dean held up the paper that Cas had handed to him with those long fingers and that delicate wrist. Was it bruised? Sam read the note and gasped in the deepest breath he could manage. 

“You gotta read this, Dean,” he said, coughing. His face was sweaty and pale. “ _Now_.”

Dean glanced up at his brother’s serious face and his chest tightened. He took the note:

 _Dean_ , it started in tiny, careful handwriting, _I’ve listed the three angel trials below. The last requires a sacrifice of grace at St. Benedict’s Church in Bendena, Kansas. I may not be around after that. It has been an honour. I’m truly sorry. You’ve made a nice home in the bunker. I like it. Good luck to you and Sam. Castiel._

Fuck. ’A sacrifice of grace’? Bile rose in Dean’s throat. “We’re going to that church.”

“Dean,” Sam started to reply but Dean cut him off.

“It’s like 3 hours from here. When is that idiot gonna stop with the self-sacrificing crap?” Sam gave him a look that clearly said, ‘seriously?’ Dean rolled his eyes. He still felt ill. “Load up the gimp, Sam. We’re going to church!”

********

After the fourth ‘this is a really bad idea’ comment from Sam, Dean was about ready to stab him in the neck. He told Sam so. The bitchface was worth it. Crowley was locked up tight in the trunk of the impala and Sam and Dean were creeping around the cemetery to get to the back door of the church. The church itself was pretty unremarkable. A random choice. 

Sam was struggling, breathing heavily. Dean had tried to get Sam to stay in the car but that had worked about as well as when Sam was 7 and wanted to sleep under the kitchen table, which is to say, it didn’t. Sammy had enjoyed his rest that night, the little shit, and had been using it ever since. 

Dean sighed to himself as he as Sam crept forward towards a church window. Why was it always a church? At night? Or a cemetery. Christ. One day, Dean would like to save the world on a sunny afternoon in a park. 

Sam and Dean looked through one of the murky stain glass windows to the inside of the church. 

“Crap,” Dean breathed. Inside was Abaddon and several demons standing beside a table covered in candles and other ritual crap. Dean couldn’t recognise anything through the dirty window. A sigil was drawn in the centre of the room. Dean didn’t know it and at his questioning glance, Sam shook his head. 

“In?” Dean asked with a sigh. He already knew the answer. He always knew the answer.

“In,” Sam replied. The Winchester looked at each other. Sam cocked his gun and Dean readied the demon-killing knife.

And of course, because the Winchester’s can never catch a break, that was when it all went to shit.

“You two are idiots,” Abaddon said from behind them.

 

********

Dean was frozen, stuck in place against a pew. At least he was now inside the church. He struggled but that stupid bitch had him caught. His muscles were aching and he strained to get free. Abaddon had Sam in a chokehold; standing on the unknown sigil, chanting slowly, almost leisurely.

“Lookee what we found,” a dark-haired demon sang. “Found him in the trunk.”

A second demon threw the hog-tied Crowley onto the ground with a loud thump and rising of dust. “Idiots,” he said. 

“Hey, that’s mine!” Dean called, “Won him fair and square.” There was a chill coursing through his body at the sight of Sam struggling for breath. 

Abaddon waved a dismissive hand, “I don’t need the salesman. I have Lucifer’s vessel.” Dean’s throat closed up. He couldn’t see Sam’s face. “I like your shirt,” she said to Sam. Abaddon pulled out an angel blade and okay, how the fuck did she get that?

“That’s the thing about this spell. It takes a while unless…” she trailed off, twirling the blade in the hand not holding Sam. Dean was going to rip her head off. “Unless I have a special sort of blood.” Abaddon ran her eyes over Sam’s fever-shaking body and raised her arm, “I really do like that shirt.”

The blade came down. 

Dean shouted.

There was a flash of tan.

A pained cry.

Cas had thrown himself between Sam and Abaddon. The blade stabbed into Cas’ chest. Abaddon screeched in anger and _shoved_. Sam and Cas were thrown across the room, landing in a heap. Dean shouted again. His breath came in short gasps. He tried to drag himself closer but Abaddon still had her hold on him. Bitch.

“You bitch,” Dean growled. There was a roaring in his ears. Dean wasn’t just gonna rip her head off, he was gonna pull her apart. 

Abaddon just laughed, “Just stay there, Sunshine. It won’t be long now. Well, longer than I planned now that the blade is tainted but…” She turned to the table of ingredients and started murmuring softly. Dean didn’t understand the words. Some bastardisation of Latin, maybe?

Dean glanced over at his brother and angel. His heart skipped a beat. The angel blade was still sticking gruesomely out of Cas’ chest. He wasn’t moving. There was no glow. Dean knew there still time for something but he didn’t know what. Sam groaned and rolled over. Dean called out his name, voice thick. Sam didn’t respond, eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

There was a rumble from the middle of the church room. The sigil started to shine. Abaddon chanted faster now. Crowley was trying to roll away, still tied and gagged. The rumble grew louder. Dean had visions of Lucifer’s rise; how the floor groaned and shook and screamed and split apart. Oh god. Dean tried to move again. He shouted through closed teeth, frustrated that he still couldn’t move. Just an inch, come on baby, give me an inch. 

Cas caught Dean’s eyes from across the room; across the turmoil of the room. He raised a shaky hand towards the angel blade. Cas didn’t smile but Dean saw it in his eyes. Dean’s heart stopped. He tried to shout but could only manage a hoarse whisper:

“Cas, don’t you fucking dare!”

Cas fixed Dean with a look, a glare really, and with a grunt of pain, he pulled the blade out of his chest. Cas dropped it on the ground and screwed his eyes shut in pain. The blade gave a loud clang (Dean was surprised he could hear it; the rest of the room’s noise had dulled in the background) and rolled to the side. Sam blinked dazedly as the blade came to a stop near him. Dean shouted his name. Sam was still too out of it. Not good.

Dean saw a glimmer of light rising almost immediately from the gaping hole in Cas’ chest. Crap. Seeing that once coming outta Cas was more than enough for Dean’s lifetime. Dean struggled against Abaddon’s invisible hold, inwardly shouting when he shifted forward a few inches. Cas reached over and murmured something to Sam. Dean was too far, always too damn far, to hear. Cas gently shut Sam’s eyes with a bloody hand and tried to stand. Cas’ hands scrabbled for purchase on the wall behind him. What the hell was he doing? Dean had a churning low in his gut. On shaky legs, Cas pulled himself up. 

The shine was spreading. 

Abaddon was still chanting, focused on the lit candles in front of her.

Dean pulled himself forward another inch.

Sam lay still on the ground, breathing heavily.

The shine was the ring around Cas’ blue eyes and Dean cursed, stomach flipping.

Abaddon’s chanting was a distant ring in Dean’s ears. 

Cas’ grace was coming through stronger now from the stab wound; the glow around his eyes shifting and pulsing. Cas met Dean’s eyes and mouthed through a bloodied and shining mouth: _Close your eyes_.

Dean grunted, shouted no. He knew what Cas was gonna do; deep down a part of him knew. Dean couldn’t look away. Couldn’t leave Cas alone with that.

 _Dean, close your eyes_. He heard the voice in his head; Cas’ rough, impatient tone, strangely gentle. Dean’s heart twisted. He flicked his eyes to the middle of the room. Abaddon’s words grew louder, surer, closer to the end. Crowley was trying to speak through the gag in his mouth. He looked afraid. Dean was glad.

Cas stood away from the wall now. Swaying. Dean didn’t close his eyes. Not yet. He had to see. Cas looked at him but Dean couldn’t be sure if Cas could see him through the light of grace surrounding him. Cas smiled then. Dean’s breath caught. Abaddon’s chanting slowed. She was nearly finished. Crowley yelled; a muffled sound. 

Cas shoved his fingers into the wound in his chest. He made no noise but Dean didn’t think he’d hear it over the blood rushing through his ears. 

He kept his eyes open.

To the last.

Cas panted heavily. Dean saw a flash of shimmering gold in Cas’ hand. His eyes burned and he shut them. 

Cas spoke calmly, “Abaddon.” His voice carried over the din. Dean didn’t hear Abaddon’s response because in the next moment a dazzling burst of light burned red through his eyelids. It hurt. Dean covered his eyes with his hands, an extra measure against the intense flash of grace. Dean prayed that Sammy had kept his eyes closed.

The light grew brighter. Abaddon’s screams were cut short. A loud crash and the church windows exploded. The light grew. Dean didn’t hear Cas. A loud bang and the ancient wooden pews creaked and split. A table hit the wall and broke and Dean kept his eyes covered. He couldn’t risk opening them but he had to see, he needed to see. It was almost too much; the light, the pain, the need to find Sam, to see Cas.

The explosion of light flashed once more.

There was black. Silence. 

Dean opened his heavy eyes and blinked to adjust to the change. He scanned the room, not really registering anything, searching out his brother. His whole body ached. Sam hadn’t moved, only turned his head towards Dean. With clear eyes and a half-manic smile, Sam waved at Dean. He laughed quietly and stared back at the ceiling. Dean let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. 

The church was destroyed. Shattered glass lay strewn across the floor. The church pews had broken apart. Black scorch marks marred the floors. The demons, Dean assumed, but at that moment he really didn’t give a shit. Dean caught sight of a tan trench coat and his throat closed up. Cas. He dragged himself towards the angel, feeling dizzy. On the opposite side of the floor, Sam turned his head.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. Cas was motionless, face bloody. His chest was a mess. Dean didn’t know where to start, he realised. Dean reached out a hand.

“Cas? Come on, man,” Dean wasn’t pleading. He wasn’t. He wrapped his hand around Cas’ wrist and felt for a pulse. It was weak but it was there.

“Dean?” It was Sam. Dean looked him over. Sam’s face was flushed, his eyes bright and shining and he looked…healthy. Dean’s heart made a funny flip motion.

“Dude, you look…” Dean trailed off. Sam shrugged. He looked down at himself.

“I think – yeah – I think Castiel did something.” Sam looked down at Cas. Dean’s heart suddenly felt very heavy.

“That’s great, man,” he said softly. Dean took off his jacket and placed it against the worst injury on Cas’ chest. Cas’ eyes flew open and he sucked in a gurgling breath.

“Cas, _Cas_!” 

Cas’ eyes flickered, glassy, unfocused. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. 

“Take it easy,” Sam soothed. “I’m gonna – first aid kit.” Sam raised his shoulders in question. Dean nodded absently. He pushed Cas’ hair away from his forehead.

“You are one hot mess, angel.”

Cas’ breathing was worryingly wheezy. He tried to focus on Dean’s eyes, his own still dazed. “I stopped…I stopped the ritual,” Cas spoke slowly, rolling the words around his tongue. Blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth. 

“You sure did, man,” Dean replied. He made his voice light, “We’ll get you back to the bunker to heal. Seems like we were just there.”

Cas smiled, his eyes shiny. “I’m not an angel. I ruined the ritual…oh god. I don’t think this is good, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, “It’ll be fine. Sam is coming with the kit, just hold on – Cas, _focus on me_.” 

Cas rolled his eyes to the ceiling and said breathlessly, “I would have liked to stay in the bunker.” Dean’s eyes grew hot and stinging. “Dean, do you – “ Cas coughed, a horrible, watery cough. “Do you think I could’ve had my own room at the bunker?”

Lump in his throat, Dean leaned over Cas. He rested his forehead against Cas’ sweaty one and said, “Cas, you get through this, okay? You get through this, and you – I want you to stay in the bunker. With me.” I left space for you in our room.

Cas’ breath hitched.

“Okay? Just _stay_. I need you to stay with me.” Dean’s face felt hot and he pulled back. Cas reached out and held Dean’s wrist.

“I would like that,” Cas whispered. He closed his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

Dean swallowed. “Good,” he said. “Good. Wait till you see the kitchen, man. Properly. I’m gonna teach you how to cook. And you and Sammy can geek out over the books.” Dean ran a hand over his face. Cas squeezed his wrist. “Well,” Dean continued, “We’ll have to get you some pyjamas and some new clothes and I’ll show you my records. They're pretty wicked. We can find something for your wall…”

Dean kept talking, long after Sam arrived and patched Cas up enough to move him. Cas didn’t open his eyes but he kept a firm hold on Dean’s wrist and that was how Dean knew not to freak out. Cas was tough for a nerdy dude – even without wings. Sam didn’t say anything about Dean’s running commentary to Cas. Dean felt a rush of gratitude. Sam didn’t comment and Dean supposed that he knew. That he always knew that they were gonna end up here. Dean and Cas. 

********

Cas opened his eyes as Sam and Dean placed him on the bed in the bunker. He murmured, “We’ll have to paint the walls,” and fell into a steady sleep. Sam snorted. Dean sat in the chair close to the bed. He watched Cas’ bandage-swathed chest move up and down with shaky breaths. Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder, earning him a rough shove towards to the door when he managed to hit the one place on Dean that _didn’t_ have a bruise but sure as hell did now. Sam laughed, mentioned something about food and darted out the door. His energy was back and Dean was ecstatic. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said. With Sam gone and Cas sleeping, Dean took his chance. He leaned over Cas and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Dean rested his hand atop of Cas’, thumb stroking the wrist he liked so much. “For everything.” 

Dean grinned, “And we’re not painting these walls.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: Tomorrow Will Be Kinder by The Secret Sisters.


End file.
